


Plenty of fish, one great catch

by Chibifukurou, Lydia_Martin_trash



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Communication Failure, First Meetings, Getting Together, Happy Ending, M/M, Miscommunication, Multi, POV Derek, Selkie Stiles Stilinski, Werewolf Courting, Werewolf Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 12:27:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15412899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chibifukurou/pseuds/Chibifukurou, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lydia_Martin_trash/pseuds/Lydia_Martin_trash
Summary: When Derek's fishing net gets another hole in it, little does he expect it would unravel into a love story. But courting someone from a different species might be just a little bit more difficult than he thought.Entry for the Sterek Reverse Bang 2018





	Plenty of fish, one great catch

**Author's Note:**

> My fic entry for the Sterek Reverse Bang 2018! I was lucky enough to get Chibifukurou's amazing art, so I hope I did it justice.
> 
> A big thank you for Danielle for the beta work! You're a lifesaver, as always!

 

It _is_ weird for a werewolf to love the ocean so much, Derek is well aware, but he likes a little weirdness. He has always felt at home in the sea, always preferred the smell of salt to the decay of forests or the iciness that make his nose twitch up in the mountains. His sisters tease him about it, but Mother used to say it was cute. She would pinch his chipmunk cheeks wherever he said he was going to be a fisherman when he was a boy and call him “her little sailor”.

She had been considerably less amused when Derek had told her the same thing at eighteen, though, and had watched in exasperation as he got his first job as a crewman on a crabber. Now, eight years later, she’s finally resigned and keeping out of Derek’s business. It only took him buying his own vessel for it to happen.

Triskelion is a beautiful boat, a gillnetter equipped with a manual mesh of branded silk that is Derek’s pride and joy. They’ve been fishing together for six months now, and she’s been nothing but reliable and safe. He reciprocates by being methodical, almost fanatical about maintaining his equipment, if Laura is to be believed. Truthfully, he was expecting at least another year before something like this happened, but there it is.

A big fat hole on his net.

Most of his catch is still there, gilled by their face bones or tangled by teeth and spines, gleaming bright under the early morning sun. Some are even wedged inside, too far away from the single hole to make it out, but the real damage is not the fish escaping. It’ll take forever to fix the mesh this time, to put it under regulated sizes again. It is almost torn in two, and if he doesn’t hurry to fix it, he’ll have to use nylon or risk a fine. He’ll probably have to ask Kira.

“Fucking dolphins,” Derek mutters under his breath. He’s alone in the open sea, but it’s never wise to underestimate an alpha’s hearing.

 

 

 

Kira whistles when she sees the damage.

“I’ll have to use a patch,but should be done by tomorrow.” She hangs the mesh into hooks hanging from the ceiling of the back porch. “For a price.”

“Of course I’ll pay you.” Derek offers, pausing on his way into the kitchen. When Kira scoffs, he lifts an eyebrow. “I’ll pay you in fish?” He points at the ice box on his shoulder, filled to the brim with Pacific salmon.

“I was thinking you could put in a good word with your cousin for me.” She bats her eyelids exaggeratedly, flashes him a hopeful smile.

Derek rolls his eyes and goes into the kitchen. “Or... you could talk to her yourself.”

“Come on, Derek!” Kira follows him, already turning red just at the most indirect mention of Malia. “Help a friend out. Courting is hard!”

“It’s not that hard,” Derek says, thinking of Paige and Braeden. He had wooed one and been wooed by the other, and both times he had had a good time and parted from them amicably. Paige had joined a music company in a big city and Braeden had decided to hunt a famous bandit around the world, and Derek hadn’t kept up contact with either of them. “You’re just two useless tricksters.”

“If it’s so easy, maybe you should try it. When was the last time you courted someone?” She puts her hair up, washes her hands and starts putting the fish in the Yukimuras’ own icebox. Like everything else on the shop, it runs on electricity, but doesn’t have any visible outlets.

“I’ll court someone when I’m interested in someone,” Derek says. “I’ll pay in money this time.”

“Then I have something else for you, if you help me with Malia,” Kira says. There’s nothing in her scent but her usual sweetness and a delicate, electric amusement. “A tidbit of information you might find useful.”

“I’ll pass,” Derek smirks, turns away and leaves through the back door again, unwilling to bother the clients the Yukimuras are sure to have even in the middle of the afternoon.

Kira waves at him from the door. “Ask me the next time I have to fix your net!” She yells when he’s way down the road.

Derek chuckles to himself. After she patches it up, the mesh will take at least another six months of fishing with only minor repairs.

“Don’t count on it!” He yells back, and her laughter follows him all the way to the docks.

 

 

 

“You know, there’s a point when it’s financially irresponsible to insist,” Kira says. His silk net is hanging from the back porch of the Yukimuras again, and he has been waiting for the last half-hour for the dinner rush to pass so Kira could take a look again. For the fourth time this month. “It’s usually advisable to stop before one becomes completely bankrupt.”

“My family is rich,” Derek says, even though he knows Mother has never and will never fork out for anything related to his vessel or fishing business. He crosses his arms and watches as the tendrils of electricity leaving Kira’s fingers stitch the patch of braided silk into the mesh more quickly and efficiently than he ever could in brooding silence.

“They’re also not so keen on you being a captain, right?” Kira asks distractedly.

Derek frowns and can’t stop a deep sigh.

“My mother wants me to consider selling Triskelion to Finstock,” he admits.

Kira finishes the repairs with a little twirl and smiles innocently at Derek.

“You know my offer still stands,” she says. “I’d do nearly anything to avoid having to buy from Finstock.”

Usually he’d know better than to meddle into other people’s – other shifters, and tricksters on top of that – affairs, but Derek _is_ growing desperate. His Mother is already making noise about him joining the Police Department again. She wants him to go to the police fundraiser and meet all the officers he has already known since he was a kid.

The thought of being away from the sea for days at a time make his stomach churn.

“I’ll tell Malia you said hi,” he promises.

Kira beams at him, throws her arms around his shoulders and squeezes tight. Given her little stick arms, it is almost nothing to Derek.

“So, what can you tell me about my troubles?” He asks.

If he’s honest, Derek is expecting some miraculous ancient wisdom on how to frighten dolphins away from his boat – Noshiko Yukimura _is_ a 900 year old fox spirit, after all, and Derek doesn’t doubt she might have worked in all professions before settling down to boss Ken and Kira around, fishing included. At the very least, he expects Kira will have some tip on how to make his mesh more resistant, though how much more resistant than the super silk she gifted him can be, he doesn’t know.

He isn’t expecting Kira to laugh into his shoulder and step away gingerly.

“I can tell you dolphins are not it,” she says.

“What,” he says, frowning in confusion, “are you talking about?”

“It’s not dolphins putting holes in your mesh.” She shrugs apologetically and pats his arm when he can only stand there, eyebrows rising in shock.

 

 

 

The thing is, dolphins are always his first suspects when things go wrong in regard to fishing because in Derek’s experience, they’ve always been a maritime pain in the ass. It is always dolphins who use his net as an all-you-can-eat buffet, even though they don’t like salmon that much; it’s because of them that Derek has to use acoustic pingers and, therefore, earplugs. If Derek has had to jump from Triskelion and dive into the sea to rescue whatever is trashing because they got trapped into the mesh, the whatever is nearly always a dolphin, and in thanks for not leaving it to die, it _and_ its friends usually destroy Derek’s net for his troubles.

Dolphins are assholes, but at least Derek has dealt with them before. Whatever this is…

But he is ready. That Friday, hours before the sun rises, he sets off to the bay leaving the pingers behind and concentrates on any suspicious sound while going through his work routine. The sky is clear, there is no smell of rain announced in the sea breeze. It’s a lovely day to catch a little thief.

Nothing happens until late morning.

The sound is barely perceptible, a soft underwater rush a mundane fisherman would never be able to catch with the whispers of the wind and the waves, but Derek has his ears open. He touches the line from where the net hangs and it’s vibrating much more than it should. He throws his shoes and clothes off and jumps in the water only in his underwear.

The seal – of all possible things, a seal – doesn’t even see him. Derek watches it from just under the surface, eyes burning from the salt but transfixed all the same. It is a beautiful animal, big and lean, with unusual light brown eyes and a smooth, spotted coat that looks impossibly soft. It also has to be the weirdest seal Derek has ever seen: it’s trying to grab a fat salmon from the net using its flippers like hands, instead of biting into it as most animals would, and it’s swimming in an ungraceful up and down motion like a human who learned how to swim from a dog.

Derek feels sort of bad as he cuts the floats from the net and watches it falling downwards in a deceitfully gentle manner to trap the seal and drag it to the bottom of the bay, some 10 feet below. It must have been hungry, he muses. It clearly is a bad hunter.

If it hadn’t all but ruined Derek’s gear four times, he might have tried to adopt it or make friends, kinda. It’s looking at him so pitifu… sheepishly? Never mind, that seal is lucky Derek is only going to scare the shit out of it.

He resurfaces for a lungful of air and shifts into his beta form. He’ll roar in the seal’s face and hopefully it’ll be a good long while before it realizes he is, as his family puts it, a “marshmallow” and wouldn’t actually do anything to it.

Derek dives again, swimming down as fast as he can to the bundle moving and kicking up sand before the seal can hurt itself. He grabs at it blindly, trying not to get caught in the net himself, but what he feels is distinctly human shaped.

Surprised, Derek finds the floor and kicks up, dragging mesh and seal with him.

Out of the cloud of dust, held securely in Derek’s arms and only half-trapped in the net, is no seal – there is a man, or better yet, the upper half of a man, and the lower half of a spotted seal where the pelt hasn’t been discarded.

They breach the water surface and Derek can only stare. As a human, instead of spots, the man has little moles scattered around his face, and his eyes are even more striking. So striking that for a heartbeat Derek forgets he is angry at all.

Then he remembers.

With barely a grunt of effort, he throws seal and net both into his boat, and swims there. By the time he’s hauled himself inside too, the man is freeing a foot. A seal pelt is laid out by his side. The net is torn in places, again.

Derek watches him for a moment. There are moles all over his shoulders and legs and arms too. Once he has untangled himself (very carefully and without tearing the mesh any further, Derek notices), he looks at Derek with an embarrassed smile and waves a hand half-heartily at him as he gets up. Making an effort not to look at the guy’s dick and to remember that he’s pissed, Derek takes two steps forwards and roars in his face, as planned.

The guy startles, badly, and his heartbeat speeds up. But he doesn’t smell as scared as he should. Derek can only smell the salt on him.

“Sooooo… are you aware I can see your junk from here? Those white boxers really don’t hide anything,” he says in a pleasant, carefree voice. “I thought I’d let you know, in case you didn’t. I hate it when people let other people go around with lettuce in their teeth, or open zippers, or see-through underwear, in your case. I just think it’s mean,” he finishes and shrugs.

Derek has no answer to any of this. He doesn’t even know why they’re discussing his underwear when the man is _naked_ on Triskelion. But it doesn’t matter, because everybody’s nudity is beside the point.

“Stop ruining my net!” He yells and roars again, for good measure.

“Okay, okay, dude!” The man holds his hands up in nonthreatening manner, takes two steps backwards, dragging his pelt between his toes until he’s leaning against the rail. “Got it, never touching your net again. If there’s nothing else I can do for you...”

“Wait!” Derek screams, rushing to him. But even werewolf speed is not enough when the guy just has to lean back and disappear into the ocean.

 

 

 

Of course, the whole thing is mortifying in hindsight, but Derek should be feeling satisfied. He has found out who was destroying his net. He has scared him. He has extracted a promise that it won’t happen again. This is a success story, exposed dicks non-withstanding, and it has reached its natural conclusion. A happy end.

Yet, Derek feels unsettled. He wants to know what the seal’s name is, and where he had come from so suddenly. And why he was desecrating his fishing gear instead of just buying fish at the market place like a normal person. Does he not have the money? Does he even live in human society?

Derek is not naturally curious, no more than most people seem to be. Things are what they are, and he has always found it better to act instead of asking why. But this… it haunts Derek like no lack of information ever has before. He loses sleep over it, and when he does fall asleep, he dreams the seal is laying under his net at the bottom of the ocean, trapped and starving in the dark.

It’s possible he is being just a bit dramatic.

All the same, he spends the whole Saturday scowling while he mends his mesh, Triskelion anchored at the harbor. Manually, this time, to Kira’s displeasure.

“You don’t need me to talk to Malia for you,” he reminds her for what feels like the hundredth time.

Leaning on Triskelion’s rail, feet splashing in the water, Kira sighs like her troubles are insurmountable. Derek doesn’t bother stopping his work to look at her. He would have more sympathy to offer if he didn’t have to hear Malia complain about Kira ignoring her courting efforts every time he sets foot within his favorite bar.

“Will she be at the fundraiser today?” She asks again, even though she knows that Derek knows that she _knows_ everyone with the surname Hale or the slightest relation to the family will have to show up or deal with Mother tsking in their direction for the next month or so. A fate worse than death.

“Go as my plus one,” Derek offers. “Then you can finally talk to her. If it goes badly, we can always ditch early.”

“Really?” Kira says, gets up and throws herself at his back. Her whole weight barely moves him, but she does her best. “Thank you, thank you Captain Hale!”

Derek snorts, then smirks as he has a sudden idea.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he says. Kira lets go of him and he turns to face her, face set in a fake scowl. “You can go for a price.”

Kira puts her hand on her waist, face going foxier at once. “Name it.”

“Tell me everything you know about who was putting holes in my mesh,” he says. He doesn’t think she knows too much, and he’ll take her to the fundraiser anyway, but it doesn’t hurt to ask.

She frowns a little, concentrating.

“I’m pretty sure it’s supernatural too.” She frowns a little, nose wrinkling in concentration. “Like I said, I’m positive it’s not dolphins, but I don’t know what it might be. It has to be strong, to keep ruining your net after I fixed it.”

“It was a seal shifter,” Derek confesses. “Do you know anything about it?”

Kira immediately perks up.

“They’re pretty rare. Native from Ireland, but by now they’ve spread around like everyone else.” She tilts her head, smiling that sweet, innocent way of hers. “They’re supposed to be hot. Did you get a good look?”

Derek huffs. Most supernatural people are supernaturally attractive by human standards. Since humans will fuck anything, that’s not much of an endorsement. Then again, that guy would probably make most humans sweat, but Derek is trying very hard not to think about him, naked and dripping wet on the floorboard of his boat.

“Oh my gosh, they were hot!” Kira flat out screams. “You’re blushing, Derek!”

“Never mind that,” Derek shushes her even as feels the tip of his ears getting warmer. “What I meant was whether you know about any seal shifters around Beacon Hills. I caught him, but he escaped. I want to make sure he’s gone for good.”

“I have never heard of one, but it’s a port town, you know?” She shrugs and starts twirling a pigtail around a finger. “He might have been passing through. Maybe he’s already moved on.”

“He’d be smart to,” Derek says, frowning for real this time. The thought leaves him strangely despondent. He doesn’t know why, but he knows it is for the best. There’s nothing to be gained from meeting the man again.

“Is that all?” Kira asks, swinging back and forth on her heels. “Does that mean I can go to the fundraiser then?”

“I’ll pick you up at eight,” he says, and Kira fist pumps in victory, then jumps around until she miscalculates a cartwheel and falls off the boat straight into the water.

“I’m alright!” Derek hears her yell from the sea but doesn’t bother going to her rescue because her strange foxy laughter follows. She is even still smiling as she says her goodbyes and runs to her house to get ready.

Derek wishes he felt the same enthusiasm.

 

 

 

As far as Derek is concerned, galas and balls are for big cities. As a port town of 30,000 people, Beacon Hills ought to resign itself to beneficent picnics, recipes contests and the occasional fish-related event for raising money. But no one seems to agree with him, so here he stands, on a Saturday night, wearing an itchy tuxedo that wants to suffocate him and a fake smile, greeting the important people of Beacon Hills and 90 percent of their police force at the town’s hall door instead of playing pool with his friends at Tate’s.

It should be Laura here as the heir apparent to the Hale legacy, but she ran inside as soon as William Greenberg turned the corner with a rose bouquet. Mother had sighed and pointed Derek towards the entrance, and that was that.

Looking at the bright side, it beats staying inside while Mother and uncle Peter try to out-speech each other and Mayor Whittemore fails to keep up. It sure as hell beats watching Kira making eyes at Malia from one side of the room and panicking and running in the other direction as soon as Malia tries to go near her.

When the last person enters, he thinks of bailing. He could still catch up to Isaac, Boyd and Erica and make fun of the people at the fundraiser and enjoy himself just a little. But like she can hear his thoughts, Mother approaches in her evening dress and strokes his cheek like she used to do when he was a boy. In her heels, she is just an inch taller than him, and that too makes him feel small and childish for considering leaving.

“Thank you for doing this, Derek,” she says, and if she sniffs the guilt in the air, she doesn’t comment on it. “I know it’s not really your thing, but your sisters are hiding in the bathroom right now.”

“It’s not so bad,” he says, lying through his teeth. The last time Derek was in one of these, Camden Lahey followed him around asking loudly if something smelled fishy until Derek roared in his face. Somehow it was still Derek’s fault when he pissed himself, and he ended up apologizing to Camden, Isaac _and_ Coach Lahey.

“Let’s get out of this chill, shall we?” She says, and Derek lets himself be guided inside without complaint. To anyone looking, it looks like he’s escorting her, but that’s only the people who don’t know Mother well.

Inside, the smell of perfume is nearly overpowering, but there’s also something off in the air, something too good to be true, misplaced. Mother gives him a sympathetic smile when he sniffs curiously, misreading his frown, but doesn’t let go of his arm even after he gets used to it.

“I already talked to everyone,” he points out reasonably, giving up identifying what is bothering him for now. “And I need to go save my date.”

“Let your cousin and your little friend have their fun, Derek. I have money riding on them.” She waves a hand at the general direction where Malia has managed to corner a blushing Kira. “Plus, you haven’t met our newest officer yet. He arrived before Greenberg made his entrance.”

“Do you and Peter bet on your children’s love life as well or just the ones adopted out get the privilege?” Derek deadpans, and starts digging his heels just to be contrary.

Mother drags him like he weights nothing and smirks. Derek doesn’t know if she’s laughing at his paltry efforts or the suggestion he has a love life at all, but either way she doesn’t let him divert her attention.

“I think you’ll get along well, you seem very alike. He seems like a serious, competent man,” she says. Coming from her, this is high praise indeed. “Very no-nonsense, but a tad reluctant about the supernatural, if you ask me. Maybe you’ll change his mind.”

“I wasn’t asking.” Derek mutters, but Mother ignores him and kicks his ankle lightly until he gives up and walks the last few meters on his own.

A blue-eyed, sandy-haired man smiles a tight-lipped smile at them, but there’s also the faintest trace of true relief in his scent when they interrupt David Whittemore. As the only new face at the fundraiser, he must be the fresh meat the vultures are circling around. It’ll be a while before they lose interest. Derek sympathizes, but he makes a point of giving the man just a cursory nod. Mother doesn’t need any encouragement.

“Noah, I’d like you to meet my son, Derek.” Mother says and gives the man her business smile, the fake one everyone adores that she shares with her brother. “He’s going to try for the next Academy exam, if I get my way. But meanwhile you can call him first if any civilian resources are needed. Derek, Noah used to be the Sheriff at Santa Rita.”

To his credit, Noah is not immediately charmed by Mother’s flattery, nor by her offer of free labor. He turns to Derek with an extended hand and shakes firmly when Derek accepts it.

“Deputy Stilinski, pleased to meet you,” he says, smiles charmingly even as he smells like even this low level of schmoozing is painful to him. He must be a great cop, if he’s managed to get elected Sheriff at his old city.

Even pissed at Mother, suddenly Derek can see what she means about him and this man being similar. He can’t help offering a more genuine smile back. “My pleasure, Deputy. How are you liking our little town so far?”

Pleased that his politeness has won over his annoyance, Mother engages Whittemore and eventually they leave Derek talking to Deputy Stilinski on his own. It’s as pleasant as can be, considering Derek is still being chocked by his tuxedo instead of freeballing in his sweatpants at his own house.

“So, you’re considering joining the force, Derek?” Deputy Stilinski asks, refusing the champagne from a passing waiter. He’s been nursing the same glass of water for as long as they’ve been talking.

“Not really,” Derek admits, then drinks from his own water. “It’s my Mother’s dream...” – _to have pack in every public office in town_ , he thinks, but doesn’t say as much – “but I’m a fisherman. I just bought my own vessel, so I’m a captain now.”

Derek is more than used to people’s judging stares or outright rudeness about his profession. Some feel personally attacked a scion of an old, rich family like the Hales has dared to lower himself to a blue-collar job more than half their town is involved in. Derek has perfected his no-fucks-given face as the years went by, but Deputy Stilinski gives him an understanding nod and his posture relaxes just a little.

“I fish for sport, myself,” he says. His eyes have deep wrinkle when he smiles for real. “I have… fond memories of the sea. There’s nothing more freeing than being out there days at a time.”

And Derek is already nodding along, opening his mouth to whole-heartily agree, when he smells _it_ again. Like someone put a handful of salt on his tongue, only fresh and cool. He knows at once it is coming towards him, what he couldn’t place before, but this time he has no trouble identifying it.

Smells like the ocean.

Deputy Stilinski finishes drinking his water, oblivious to Derek’s racing heart. He does give him a strange look, noticing his sudden stillness, but something behind Derek catches his attention. He waves, and then the smell engulfs everything.

A young man with striking brown eyes passes Derek by and stops at Deputy Stilinski’ side. He has an energetic smile on his face, which turns into a startled gasp when he sees Derek.

“I see you’ve already met.” Deputy Stilinski says, amused. “I hope my son has not been too much trouble, Derek.”

Derek nods slowly, barely knowing what he’s agreeing with. He tries to look at Deputy Stilinski to read his reaction, but it’s hard to make himself stop staring at the seal, and his nose won’t focus on anything but his smell.

“Sure.” He finally settles on. What he really means to say is _thank God you’re not starving somewhere!_ The seal’s heartbeat is going fast, and his pretty brown eyes turn imploring. Derek knows at once then – the Deputy doesn’t know what his son has been up to, and he wouldn’t approve. He can’t help smiling brightly at the young man.

“We’ve met at the market, Dad.” The seal says, then looks Derek up and down, half-appreciative, half-suspicious. “What is a fisherman doing at this rich people’s snoozefest, by the way?”

“Stiles!” Deputy Stilinski reprimands, but the seal – Stiles Stilinski, what a weird name – doesn’t look particularly chastised.

Derek arches an eyebrow at this but doesn’t even pretend to be angry. Not even his tuxedo can ruin his new, improved mood.

“Maybe I’m following you.” He teases, pulls at the collar of his shirt until it’s not so tight on his throat anymore. Stiles’ eyes stay glued to the motion, then to Derek’s throat. Derek feels oddly pleased at the weight of his stare on his skin.

“That’s not worrying at all,” Stiles mutters to himself, flushed. “Like, at all.”

Deputy Stilinski takes pity on him: “Derek is Mrs. Hale’s son. You remember Mrs. Hale, right? You were introduced earlier today.”

“Oh, yeah, Mrs. Hale.” Stiles nods, makes a weird, irritated pout. “Is your whole family this scary?”

Deputy Stilinski closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, but Derek snorts. Distantly, he’s aware there is a shift in attention in the room at his laughter. He’d bet some members of his family are listening to this conversation with at least half an ear now. Maybe even some other shifters.

“Every single one. It’s the eyebrows, plus the werewolf thing. But I’m told I’m a teddy bear.” Derek winks at him, smiles broad and full of teeth. “Until someone pisses me off, of course.”

“Ignore him, Derek, it’ll just become white noise in a moment or two.” Deputy Stilinski says, grabs Stiles by the back of the neck and tries to gently steer him away. “Come on, son, let’s get your old man something to eat.”

“Well, I’m not that easy to scare.” Stiles smirks at Derek, like he’s daring Derek to think otherwise. “I don’t mind you being pissed off, big guy.”

Derek arches an eyebrow. They’re nearly the same height, but he supposes Stiles _is_ more on the lean side than him. Technically, he _is_ bigger. Stiles himself is not about to be knocked off by a strong wind, though: he struggles and holds his ground when Deputy Stilinski yanks at his neck, and he doesn’t let up eye contact either.

Derek almost wants to hold a hand up, soothe him, say there’s no need to prove anything. After all, he was there when he roared in Stiles’ face and didn’t get so much as a scream in return, and he’s here right now, faced with Stiles’ bravado. He can smell only the faintest fear above the salt, and if Derek had to guess, he’d say Stiles is more scared of his Dad finding out about his antics than of any actual consequence.

He almost wants to calm him. If only pocking him wasn’t so much fun.

Alas.

“I’m not pissed off.” He smiles brightly. “I’ll let you know if I get there.”

“Thanks for the heads up” Stiles, who must be a hundred fifty pounds soaking wet, says. “And I’ll let you know if _I_ get there.”

Deputy Stilinski, who has caught on to the fact there’s something else being discussed here a long time ago, looks at Derek with a suspicious expression.

“How did you two meet, again?” He asks, going for casual and actually landing pretty close. He must really be a good cop, if he can maintain this kind of coolness when his own son is clearly up to something.

“At the fish market.” Derek says, ears getting warmer as Stiles looks at him expectantly from under his eyelashes. “I sell fish there, and Stiles was looking for a fresh catch.”

“We’re buddies, Dad,” Stiles concludes. “I even keep Derek company on his boat sometimes.”

Derek snorts into his cup. That’s a funny way of putting it, but he won’t get Stiles in trouble with his Dad, even if he deserves it. Even if he can’t explain why he cares.

“I’ll let you catch up with your friend, then, son,” Deputy Stilinski says in such an unconvinced tone Derek is sure Stiles will get a full interrogation later. “Nice to meet you, Derek.”

“Nice to meet you, Deputy,” Derek says, and snorts openly when he’s far away enough. “Buddies, humn?”

“You’re quite the friendly guy, considering all I’ve pulled so far,” Stiles admits. Without his Father near, he’s already relaxing, body language growing more expansive and inviting. Like Derek suspected, he’s utterly unafraid of him, werewolf or not, and he gives Derek a smirk with half-lidded eyes. “That, and once we’ve seen the respective family jewels, it’s either being friends or murdering each other.”

Derek’s jaw hits the floor. He can hear a collective, sudden rush of breath from different parts of the room. Cora’s maniac laughter echoes. Stiles goes on, unsuspecting of the commotion he’s just caused among all of Derek’s relatives.

“Thank you, by the way. _Really_.” He says in such a touched voice Derek instantly forgets about being angry again. “I actually know I’m in the wrong here, so I really, really appreciate you, you know, not selling me out to my Dad.”

“It’s fine.” Derek dismisses, even though he has spent many an hour imagining his revenge on whoever was ruining his net. “But… why?”

“I do have an explanation.” Stiles says, fidgeting with some imaginary lint on his own suit. Derek can smell the embarrassment starting to overpower the smell of salt “I’m just… newish at being near the sea. We used to live here, but we moved inland before I shed my pelt the first time.”

“Before seal puberty.” Derek guesses. A new understanding dawns on him. He remembers werewolf puberty all too well, after all. Only in his case it was less damaging nets and more trying to kill everything that went near him.

“I’m a selkie, technically, but yes.” Stiles rolls his eyes, like he’s tired of correcting people on this issue. “Bottom line, I’m not so great at being what I am… plus, abstract concepts like private property can get a little blurry underwater. Soooo… I guess it all adds up to me stealing from you and ruining your fishing gear. Still sorry about that, by the way.”

“It wasn’t that bad.” Derek lies. “You could barely catch anything with your little selkie hands.”

“Fuck, you saw that, humm?” Stiles runs a hand through his short hair, and this time the wave of shame reach Derek’s nostrils burning, and Stiles gets even more flustered. “Look, I’m starting a new job this Monday. I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. He pulls at his collar again, slightly self-conscious. It feels tacky to rub Stiles’ face in the family money. “Just try to not do it again.”

Stiles gives him two thumbs up.

“You’ve got it, dude!” He grins at him genuinely, gives no indication of hearing Derek’s heart thumping madly in his chest. “You’re the boss.”

All of Derek’s family laugh this time. Even Laura – Derek checks over his shoulder – risks leaving the bathroom to peep at him. Derek is not the boss of anything, the laughter suggests. Derek is screwed, it says.

Looking at Stiles’ shit eating grin and then at his retreating back, Derek has to agree.

 

 

 

Early Sunday morning, and it seems like the whole town knows about Stiles and Derek’s mutual jewelry seeing. They also have, as far as Derek can tell, come to the obvious but wrong conclusion.

Derek is okay with that, even if the shifters who had been present to the gala should know better. “Fucked on Derek Hale’s boat” is only mildly embarrassing as far as explanations go, and just because humans can be so strange about sex. The accurate but implausible sounding “caught red-handed stealing, shed seal skin to escape” ranks much higher on Derek’s mental list, and if people think Stiles is already taken, that’s a plus.

Because Stiles is a handsome smart-ass and so Derek’s type it’s possible he has dreamed him up and bound to be noticed soon. Derek is a decided, realistic person, and he can make a good mate. He cares easily and loves deeply, and he knows people find him good-looking despite his smallish ears and bunny teeth. He’s also closer to thirty than to twenty, well past any fake coyness, and he does not have any interest or inclination to play hard to get. He wants Stiles, thieving awkward little shit he is, and so he can only act accordingly.

It’s true he is a little rusty in the courting game, but he’s not so bad either. He’s not Kira or Malia. One thing he recalls from his former relationships is the rush of excitement at gifting something to a mate when in the pursuing role, so Derek decides it is as good a place to start as any: the idea of giving Stiles something (preferably something both useful and very, very visible) pleases an instinct deep inside him, and as a bonus, random gift giving is a common sign of interest by human standards as well.

The search starts at the market, then he wanders downtown, peering at shop windows under curious stares. He ventures into a bookstore, but then reminds himself that he’s not looking for something for himself. He almost enters a jewelry store too, but then he remembers he wants to get to know Stiles better, not propose to him.

In the end, he unhappily picks an expensive box of chocolates. Generic, but safe.

 

 

 

Laura works as a public notary, which had made her the focus of Mother’s mild displeasure until Derek chose an even more undignified career path, but which is very convenient for the rare occasions when they need to acquire people’s addresses. When Derek calls her, she snorts on the phone.

“Real classy, Derek,” she says. “Did you at least get his name _before_ doing the deed?”

Calling Laura is the easy part, though, because when he is facing the Stilinskis’ front door at least, chocolate box in hand, he freezes. The house is higher in the mountains than most, nearing the limit of the town, and the air is colder. From the corner of his eye, he can see a curtain moving, hears a rushing of rough clothe, and when he looks Deputy Stilinski is inspecting him through the window, face strangely blank.

Derek nods in greeting, but somehow, he can’t find the charm from the night before, and they end up kinda frowning, kinda staring each other down, until the Deputy closes the curtain.

“Stiles!” He calls from inside. “Get the door, please.”

“What?” Stiles’ voice echoes from somewhere further away, then approaches with thumping footsteps. “I didn’t hear anyth– hey!”

He gives Derek a bright, sincere smile when he opens the door, and Derek can’t help smiling back.

“Hi,” he says, lightheaded and dumb with the smell of ocean so high in the mountains.

“What are you doing here?” Stiles blurts out, then cringes. “I mean, not that it’s not good that you’re here or anything. Just, you know, a bit surprising.”

“I wanted to give you these.” Derek offers the chocolates, hoping he doesn’t sound like he’s giving an order. “And I wanted to ask if you’d like to go for a walk sometime.”

“Thanks, man,” he says, accepting the box with a little smile. “How about right now?”

Right now, Derek should be going to the pack house and helping his sisters and cousins with the weekly family dinner everybody has to attend but fuck that noise.

“Sure,” he agrees easily. “The harbor?”

Only after he asks he realizes Stiles, being back in town after so long, might like to walk around, get to know the place again. But Stiles’ face splits into a full grin at the mention of the beach. They go down a mountain trail after Stiles yells a goodbye at his Father, and Stiles is as clumsy in human form as in seal form, so Derek has plenty of excuses to touch and bump into him. Yet he’s clearly supernatural, because he’s not winded or anything when their feet finally touch sand, even though Derek could barely get a word in while they talked.

Beacon Hills is not a tourist town, so there’s barely anyone at the beach, only some children Derek can hear far off in the distance. Nothing interesting about sand and salt when one sees it every day since birth. But the sun is setting, the sky is all pinks and oranges, the sea is a deep blue like something out of a romantic movie, and Derek feels bold enough to take Stiles’ hand as they walk.

He swallows down a howl when Stiles squeezes back, feeling silly like a puppy falling in love for the first time.

When they reach the shoreline, Stiles takes off his shoes before they resume walking, and sighs contently when the waves lick his feet. He looks at Derek with half-lidded eyes that seem almost gold in the last light of the day.

“Wanna hear something funny?” He asks, then waits for Derek’s nod to go on. He’s carrying his shoes and the box Derek gave him in one hand, because apparently Deputy Stilinski can’t be trusted with certain things, and his other hand swings Derek’s back and forth. “I came here this morning to look for you.”

“But I found you first.” Derek smiles his sharpest grin. “Wolves are hunters, after all.”

“Hey! So are seals!” Stiles yells indignantly, but there is a nearly completely hidden trace of amusement under the salt of his scent. “You’ll see if I ever catch you in the water.”

“I heard selkies are not seals,” he teases. “Technically.”

“Funny, big guy, ha, ha,” Stiles replies, kicks sand on Derek’s feet. “You want a cookie for being so smart?”

“I wouldn’t mind a prize.” He shrugs, let’s go of Stiles’ hand to drag a finger lightly from the tip of his pinky to the back of his wrist with just a little hint of nail. “If you’d like to give me one.”

Stiles breath catches on his throat, and his eyes go languid and sultry when he looks at Derek from under his eyelashes. The smirk on his pink lips makes Derek want to whine. He halts when Stiles stops walking.

“Close your eyes for me?” Stiles asks, and Derek is all too happy to oblige.

He can hear Stiles tearing paper and smells him getting nearer until he’s standing so close Derek can feel the body heat radiating from him. The smell of chocolate and hazelnut mixes with the scent of the ocean, but nothing else happens. Derek opens his eyes just a tiny fraction, and that’s Stiles clue to lean forwards and brush the chocolate held between his teeth against Derek’s lips as he looks at him expectantly.

Derek doesn’t even like chocolate all that much, but he leans forwards, embarrassingly overeager, to catch both it and Stiles in a kiss. Before he can, though, Stiles leans back, eats the chocolate in one bite and takes off running towards the sea, shoes and box forgotten, laughing at Derek.

With a joyful howl that the whole town will be able to hear, Derek goes after him.

Stiles is fast, not as much as Derek, but even out of his pelt and dressed in jeans he moves easier in the water than any human or werewolf has a right to. Derek has to fight the waves and he drag of the ocean even as it seems to help Stiles along, but before they’re at waist level, Stiles stops, and Derek catches up to him with an inelegant jump.

Stiles gives him a faint smile, but he’s suddenly paler than before.

“I’m not feeling so good,” he says, rubbing at his neck.

Then he doesn’t say much else, because his throat starts closing up.

 

 

 

The news that Derek tried to kill Stiles in revenge for Stiles announcing at the gala that they slept together spreads even quicker than the news about them fucking in the first place. Monday morning, people give Derek suspicious looks and a wide berth as he makes his way down to the port.

Erica makes Boyd put First Blood in parallel with Triskelion in the open water, crosses her arms and stares expectantly at Derek. There’s no escaping it, plus Derek kinda wants to cry to someone how unfair his life is anyway, so he gives them the full story.

“I didn’t know he was allergic, okay?” He finishes with a huff, pretends to be too busy checking his mesh to look at Erica and Boyd’s horrified faces. “Even he didn’t know, he had never had hazelnuts before.”

“Only you, Derek.” Erica says. “Someday I’ll write a novelization of all the shit that happens to you and get so rich you’ll never see me again.”

“Just apologize to him. Tell the truth,” Boyd says. Unlike his other friends, his advice is usually worth something. “I mean, now it’s the time for some damage control.”

“Yeah, pamper him a little.” Erica smiles encouragingly at him. She’s a romantic at heart and thinks all her friends should get to be as happy as she is with her husband. Derek and Isaac’s chronic singleness has always nagged at her. “Take him somewhere fancy.”

“I don’t know if he even wants to see me again.” He lets out a frustrated exhale. “I just wanted to do something nice, but I nearly killed him.”

“It’s not your fault. It was an accident.” Erica smirks at him. “Go visit him at the hospital and explain everything, it’s not like he can avoid you there.”

“Thanks, but he’s been released.” He deadpans. “They just gave him a shot and I took him home the same night.”

Boyd shakes his head. _What kind of supernatural creature has allergies?,_ the light reflection on his shaved head seems to ask, but Derek has no answer to give. It’s not like it’s impossible. It’s just extremely unusual, but then Stiles is unusual in other ways too.

“What are you going to do now?” Boyd asks even as he starts going through his own routine mechanically, only half-paying attention to what he’s doing. There’s only so much time he can let Derek’s love life take from his work.

“I don’t know.” Derek lets out a deep sign. “Avoid him forever. Hide in corners when I see him in the street.”

The idea of not seeing Stiles again ruins his day, but that’ll most likely be his future now. It’s not like it had all been hopeless. Before things went to shit, Stiles had been interested. They had almost kissed, Stiles had accepted his gift. He had initiated a chase and let himself be caught. That was not romantic only to wolves, probably. So, things had ended awkwardly, and Derek doesn’t know how he could even look at him again, but he would find a way, if Stiles wants him to. Except near murder usually cools things off in the dating department. Only an idiot would want to date Derek after that fiasco.

Stiles doesn’t look like an idiot. He looks way too smart for his own good.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Erica snorts. “We all know you don’t know how to quit, especially what you actually want to pursue, or you’d be fining Harris for parking next to the hydrant again right now.”

Derek and Boyd snort together at this, and just the familiarity of it all, the easy camaraderie, lifts his spirits a little.

“Thanks. I’ll think of something,” He assures them.

Erica nods, and soon they’ve left Derek alone to do their own fishing.

 

 

 

The rest of the morning goes by smoothly. His catch is plentiful, considering the end of the season is approaching, and the mesh barely needs any repairs. He’s putting the fish in the ice compartment when he hears it: a rush underwater that shouldn’t be familiar, but somehow is, and he knows immediately. When he turns his head in the direction of the sound, he sees Stiles hanging from the edge of the rails, human upper half visible above the water.

“Hi!” He waves a hand in the air vigorously. “You’ll be happy to know I refrained from stealing anything, despite being super hungry from my near-death experience yesterday!”

Derek flinches, but judging by Stiles’ vibrant laughter, he’s forgiven.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Derek says. “I was really worried for a bit there.”

“So was I, but to live is to learn, right? Anything to keep Dad’s blood sugar down.” Stiles winks at him. “Are you going to invite me inside, or are you afraid to wet the floorboard?”

“Get in, smart-ass.” Derek snorts, then watches in amusement as Stiles does a clumsy dance to get into the boat without losing his pelt past his waist. “You know, I’ve already seem everything there was to see.”

Honestly, he _had_ tried to be a gentleman and not stare, but there is only so much in one’s direct line of sight you can avoid. Later, when he thought he’d never see Stiles again, he had wished, guilty, that he had taken a long hard look, but that’s not here nor there. The point is, Derek feels they’re past modesty.

“Well, it’s different now.” Stiles says. The pelt shifts on his legs, and suddenly there’s no lower seal half, but a pair of long, strong human legs wrapped in smooth gray fur coat. “We weren’t, you know… courting” He trails off, looking anywhere but at Derek.

“Would you like to do something together some time?” Derek asks, hopeful and ridiculously pleased that Stiles thinks of it in those terms too.

Stiles nods slightly and looks at Derek with a sheepish smile.

“It’s my turn to pick, right?” He asks, an anticipatory gleam in his pretty eyes.

Technically, Derek is the pursuing party here, and so should be responsible for impressing Stiles suitably until they mate for real. It’s cheating a little to let him take the lead, but Stiles is not a werewolf, so maybe it doesn’t matter as much if their courtship is not the most traditional. Maybe that’s how selkies do it.

It doesn’t matter, because in the end, Derek doesn’t have the heart to deny him anyway.

“Sure,” he agrees. The smile Stiles gives him is enough to quench any doubt.

 

 

 

They agree to go out the next Saturday, and Derek starts counting the days like a puppy. He sees Stiles around town, and sometimes the selkie swims to Triskelion in the afternoons and actually keeps Derek company, like they had told Deputy Stilinski they did. They don’t do anything but talk, and Stiles never loses the pelt completely again, but just that much has Derek impatient and excited for their date.

By Saturday morning, Derek is so hyped-up he puts actual, real effort into getting ready. He shaves what Mother calls his mountain man beard, puts a soft cologne Peter gave him for his birthday, and lets Erica and Isaac come over to criticize his clothes to their hearts content.

“Sorry, sir, I think I have the wrong address,” Erica says when he opens the door for her. She makes a show of looking at the palm of her hand like there is something written there. “No, it _appears_ to be right. Any chance Derek Hale lives here?”

“Ha ha.” Derek ushers her inside and points her to the master bedroom. He is currently wearing pajamas and the outfit he chose is laid out on the bed, ready for scrutiny.

“Wow, you’re serious about this guy, eh?” Erica says. “It’s not every day you break out the slutty pants.”

“You gave me them.” Derek points out. He’d rather read a little, listen to some relaxing music or, god forbid, jerk off before his date instead of entertaining his friends. Barring that, he’d rather have Boyd and Kira here to calm him down and be annoyingly positive, respectively, but sadly they’re working, and he’ll have to make do with his more stylish and high-strung friends.

He loves them, truly. He just doesn’t like them too much right now.

“As a joke!” Erica says. “Not to be worn in public, ever.”

The doorbell rings again. Isaac lets himself in even before Derek gets to the door. He sits by the chair on the corner of Derek’s bedroom and watches as Erica opens his wardrobe and picks things seemingly at random.

“What do you think?” Derek says in lieu of greetings.

“I think this Stiles person won’t recognize you without the beard.” Isaac says.

“Please, he’ll have a six o’clock shadow in half an hour and you know it.” Erica snaps at him. She has a handful of sweaters and henleys, and Derek has to take a deep breath not to ask her how that is better than the sweater he picked himself.

“In this case, wear something fancy.” Isaac says, gets up from the chair and picks a dark pair of jeans from the wardrobe too. “Show him what you’ve got.”

“He’s seem plenty.” Derek mutters, well aware their human ears can’t hear him. He leaves them to it and goes to the adjoined bathroom, to scrutinize his face in the mirror again. “I think I should go for something simpler.”

“Try these on,” Isaac orders, pushing a change of clothes into his arms and closing the bathroom door.

The next hour goes like this, with Derek trying things and hating everything even though he’s an adult who has bought his own clothes himself and chosen all those items at some point. He ends up in the original outfit, to which Erica and Isaac give him thumbs up and approving nods.

“Is he picking you up? Do I finally get to see this guy with my own two eyes?” Erica asks, wiggling her eyebrows. “Kira says he’s hot.”

Before Derek can answer, Isaac shrugs. “He’s nice enough.”

“How would you know?” Derek asks. “Or Kira, for that matter.”

“He started at Tate’s this week.” Isaac says. “If you weren’t too important to hang out with the riff-raff and had come with us yesterday, you’d know.”

“Don’t hate on us just because we can cook.” Erica throws a pillow at Isaac’s head. “Derek, should we clear out before he gets here?”

Derek appreciates the offer. Stiles is not easy to scare, but his friends, Erica and Isaac especially, can be a bit… well, _Derek_ is not scared of them, but Laura once called them ‘team blonde rage issues’. He already has the crazy family, no need to subject Stiles to his friends just yet.

“Yeah, I think so. I want to clean this place up before I have to leave.” He points at the piles of clothes Erica and Isaac had left scattered around the room.

“Why, think you might get lucky?” Erica singsongs, but she actually helps fold his clothes, and Isaac washes the dishes before they leave, so Derek forgives her for calling him out.

 

 

 

 

Though he has no relatives in public offices other than his Father, who seems unlikely to disclose personal information of random people to his son, Stiles turns up at Derek’s door at eight pm sharp all the same. It hadn’t even occurred to Derek he should have given him his address until he was ready to go, since everybody knows where everybody lives.

His eyes go round and his mouth opens of its own accord when Derek opens the door. There’s no arousal to be picked on his scent, only freshness and salt, but Derek would bet it’s there all the same, and he’s suddenly glad he fought Erica and chose the slutty pants after all.

“You look _very_ good.” Stiles says, after a long moment of just staring at Derek’s body blatantly. Then he finally closes in on Derek’s face, and gives him a surprised smile. “Look, it’s the rest of your face!”

“You look good too,” Derek offers, magnanimously ignoring the comment about his face. It’s sorta funny, and Derek likes Stiles’ spontaneity. What he likes less is the way Stiles does a full body shudder in horror after he blurts things out too bluntly without thinking first.

And exaggerated reactions aside, it’s true. Stiles is wearing a blue sweater, dress pants and a gray blazer that makes him look older and stronger, somehow. He smells like aftershave over his salty scent. Derek feels something funny on his stomach at the evidence Stiles put as much effort on getting ready as he did.

“Shall we go?” Stiles asks, offering Derek a hand.

“Where to?” Derek accepts his hand and they walk to Stiles ‘beaten up, but loyal’ jeep, in Stiles’ own words, in an unhurried pace.

“I made us reservations at this Japanese place, Fox Fire.” Stiles says, and Derek tries not to wince at the thought of Kira being their waitress for the night and dropping hints and innuendos on them the whole time. “But you don’t look too excited about that?”

“No, it’s good!” Derek hurries to say. “It’s a great place. My friend’s parents own it, the food is delicious.”

Stiles tilts his head slightly with a little smile, like he’s musing on something. Derek holds down the urge to bury his nose on his neck, but the gleam in Stiles’ eyes say he knows exactly what he’s doing. He takes a step closer into Derek’s space, but instead of pressing him against the car as Derek hopes, he just opens the passenger door and holds it for Derek.

When they’re both inside, whatever he was thinking has already matured into a full plan.

“I have another suggestion, if you’d rather not go to the restaurant.” He says with a grin. “But would you kill me if I said it involves going to the beach again?”

“That sounds great.” Derek agrees easily.

The coast is only a short distance, but Stiles drives slowly. Carefully. There’s a nervous aura around him the closer they get, even as they talk and joke around. When they arrive, he goes off road and parks in the sand, well above the tide line. Then he turns to look at Derek with a hesitant but hopeful look on his face.

“Have you ever been to the cove south from here?” He asks, fingers twirling over each other.

“There is a cove south from here?” Derek asks, surprised. He thought he knew everything there is to know about the geography of the region.

“It’s hard to get there by boat.” Stiles says. “The entrance is hidden if you don’t know it’s there, but I think it’s pretty sweet. I mean, it’s not that especial, it looks just like any other cove, I guess, I just...”

“Let’s go.” Derek cuts him off before he can work himself into a nervous breakdown.

“We have to swim.” Stiles alerts, but Derek is already getting out of the car and taking off his shoes.

Stiles’ pelt is nowhere to be seem, so they are both in their underwear when they enter the ocean, leaving their clothes thrown around haphazardly inside the jeep. Doesn’t matter, even if Derek is in white boxers again, because there’s no one to see.

It’s not quite the romantic movie setting from the time Derek nearly killed Stiles, but it’s lovely all the same. The moon is hidden, but the stars shine bright enough above and in below. The water is still warm from the long set sun, but Derek still feels a rush of fear when they go past the point where the waves break. Never before has he felt just how big and uncaring the sea can be.

Stiles is not like that, though. He’s careful and warm as he takes Derek by the hand and guides him to the place where the shoreline all but disappears and the base of the mountain rises from the ocean. The way the mountain walls curve around themselves hides the narrow entrance to the cove almost entirely, and Derek can understand how he missed it.

“I don’t think anyone else knows about this place.” He whispers, awed.

“Pretty sweet” doesn’t begin to cover it. The mountain walls reach high, but not so high a sliver of night sky is not visible. There’s a small beach with sand whiter than on the rest of the coast, and even the water looks more blue than black.

“Only my Dad and I,” Stiles says. He lets go of Derek’s hand and swims gracefully, much more so than on his seal form, to the shore. He looks back at Derek with a secretive smile. “And now you.”

Derek follows as quickly as he can, though by the time he reaches the shore, Stiles has produced his pelt from under some rocks and is using it as a towel. He offers it to Derek with an amused look.

“You really should get some darker underwear if you go swimming in it all the time.” He says.

Derek accepts the offered pelt. It’s clean and dry, and as smooth as it looks. He knows people used to hunt selkies even more than wolves back in the day; Derek doesn’t doubt people would still do a lot to own something like this. Even now, with Stiles’ permission, it feels somewhat sacrilegious to touch it to his coarse hair.

“There’s a thousand legends of people enslaving selkies by keeping their pelts,” Stiles says. He looks calm, like he’s merely stating a fact. His eyes follow the path of the pelt on Derek skin, and burn like embers. “But they’re as real as silver harming werewolves.”

“What I want from you has to be freely given anyway.” Derek says, as softly as he knows how. He offers the pelt back, and Stiles takes it with a trembling smile, then lets it drip from his fingers to the fine white sand like a drop of water.

They met halfway in an open-mouthed kiss, their need suddenly unbearable. Stiles tastes like the ocean, but with a deep sweetness at the tip of his tongue. Derek feels a whine escape him, but he can’t bring himself to mind.

Together, they lay on the sand for a long time just learning each other, furious and teasingly at turns. Afterwards, they rest their foreheads together and let the starlight wash over them.

 

 

 

“My mother used to bring me here when I was little.” Stiles whispers on Derek’s shoulder.

Derek was starting to drift off to sleep, more because Stiles was singing low on his throat and massaging his scalp than for being tired, but he stirs awake at the words and brings Stiles closer, drags the tip of his nose on his cheek until he laughs, caresses a line from the back of his neck to the end of his waist.

“She met Dad when he was out fishing. A shark was chasing her, so she just jumped into his boat.” He laughs harder while he speaks, hiccups the words, like he’s remembering the scene rather than repeating what others have told him. “They got married the same year and had me two years later.”

“You take after her,” Derek says. He doesn’t know Stiles’ mother, but there’s no doubt in his mind: Deputy Stilinski doesn’t look or smell anything like his son, and he’s human. They only share some mannerisms; things Stiles might have learned from watching his Father.

“She died when I was eight and we left right after. It was just too much. She was everywhere here, only she wasn’t.” Stiles looks at Derek with half-lidded eyes, smiles lazily when Derek nuzzles at his neck and puts little kisses all over his skin. “But I always knew I’d come back.”

“I am glad you did,” Derek whispers into Stiles’ ear, feeling an impossible sense of relief when Stiles hugs him tighter. “I’m so glad.”

He knows, rationally, that he’d been fine without Stiles, that it’s impossible to miss someone you never knew. If they had never met, there would be nothing to flourish between them to begin with, and they would both follow their own separate plans and be content somewhere else.

His heart tells a different story.

“We should go back.” Stiles says, in a tone that suggests he very much does not want to go back. “Soon it’ll be too cold for you to swim and we’ll be stranded until morning.”

For a second, Derek considers telling Stiles to wait anyway, that he’d love to be stranded until morning with him, sharing warmth and watching the sun rise from the little cove. He feels happy and in peace laying in the sand with him, bodies entangled and sore. His stomach growls, however, and ruins the mood.

Stiles laughs at him, then laughs harder when his own stomach complains too. Derek can’t help joining in, and then they’re just setting each other off until they step back into the ocean.

“Cold!” Derek yells. He tries to jump back, but Stiles yanks him forward with surprising strength.

“Come on! You just need to get in!” He pulls, and they end up mock-fighting. Derek is stronger, but Stiles is no slouch and, in the water, he has the advantage.

Slowly, they go deeper and deeper until they can’t touch the bottom anymore. Stiles takes Derek’s hand again and they are swimming towards the entrance. Then something rushes past, brushing Derek’s leg quickly.

The shift is instinctive and automatic. Derek pulls Stiles back, intent on protect him, but only gains a snort for his troubles.

“It’s just a dolphin.” He rubs Derek’s shoulder soothingly. “No need to get your wolf face on.”

“Dolphins hate me,” Derek says. With his eyes glowing, he can see the incredulous tilt of Stiles’ eyebrow, but not the dolphin who brushes against him again.

“Collectively? Did you do something to them?” Stiles asks in a genuinely curious tone. “But you’re a teddy bear.”

“I didn’t do anything. That I know of,” he amends, trying to think back. As far as he knows, dolphins are just a pain in the ass for no discernible reason. The only thing that occurs to him is that they have to share the same resources, but Beacon Hills is tightly regulated, to the point they haven’t had problems with over-fishing in decades. “Maybe they just hate fishermen on principle.”

“Wait here, I’ll just ask.” Stiles says, promptly let’s go of Derek’s hand and dives into the dark water.

Derek dunks his head after him, eyes open and burning blue, but he can’t see anything. It’s so dark underwater he would think he had his eyes closed if not for the salt irritating them. Stiles is completely gone.

So, he waits. It’s not long before Stiles appears in front of him with a shit-eating grin, however.

“They said you’re a sweetheart.” He blinks innocently at Derek, swims closer with an amused, fond look on his face. “They said you always help them when they get tangled on your net, and that you ring a bell to call them for lunch.”

“Those fucking pingers.” Derek says, but retracts claws and fangs. Without an imminent fight, he can start to relax again.

“Come on, let’s go before you freeze.” Stiles pecks his lips. Then he starts singing low on his throat again, and like they have been summoned, two dolphin emerges just under Derek’s palms, rubbing on it like cats looking for attention.

If dolphins hate Derek, Derek hates them back. Except he can’t help but pat those two lightly, almost affectionately, on their flank. Maybe they _have_ actually been summoned. He wouldn’t know, he knows next to nothing about selkies. But Derek can relate to any creature caught in Stiles’ unique charm.

“Hold onto them,” Stiles instructs, moves Derek’s hands to the dolphins’ fins.

Before he knows it, he’s being carried off to the narrow entrance of the cove, much quicker than when he was going in. And Derek is a good swimmer, but nothing compared to this freeing sensation, almost like he’s running over the water.

He laughs and turns to look at Stiles. He’s swimming too, only he’s on his own, keeping pace with them with no apparent effort even in human form. They reach the empty beach in half the time it took them to go the opposite way.

“You’re a great swimmer like this,” Derek says. It’s hard to conciliate Stiles’ grace on water in human form to the way he flails around when in his pelt.

“Like I said, I’m new at being me.” He shrugs. The water is at ankle level now, and he’s already going back to his endearingly awkward walk. “And I’m used to swimming like this.”

“I’m still impressed.” Derek smiles, checking to make sure no one is near enough to see them walking around naked. He forgot his underwear on the cove, but besides his and Stiles’ heartbeats, there is only the rush of the ocean.

“You’re not bad yourself, for a werewolf.” Stiles grins. “But that’s because you love the sea, right? You love the sea and you loved your little cetacean entourage.”

“You can’t prove anything.” Derek says, flat, and turns his head to hide a smirk.

They get to the jeep, and Stiles rushes ahead to open the door for Derek. He allows it, secretly pleased, but pulls Stiles into his lap before he can close it and buries his face into his neck.

“So, did I do alright for a second date?” Stiles asks, then signs when Derek licks the salt off his skin.

“We’re not done yet.” Derek says.

 

 

 

From then on, it’s almost completely smooth sailing. They see each other nearly every day, and the more they get to know each other, the harder Derek falls. It turns out he and Stiles are very much alike in the ways that matter, complementary enough their differences hardly cause friction between them.

They just have so much fun together. Stiles makes Derek happy, and if the smile he gets in greeting is any indication, he makes Stiles happy too, and there’s nothing more amazing.

In fact, if Derek had to complain about anything, it would be that sometimes he wants to make Stiles happier than he does currently. That seems easy enough in theory but is more complicated in practice than one might think.

The thing is, for all he’s friendly and gregarious and that things are going well, Stiles is hard to know. Or maybe he’s just hard to read.

Derek can respect the need for privacy, being a private person himself, but he’s not necessarily used to it. He had known a lot about Paige before their first date just by virtue of going to the same school as her, and much of the important information about Braeden he got from her scent alone. That’s what high school gossip and werewolf senses are for, in Derek’s opinion, and things had pretty much went his way after an exchange of glances and smiles and a discrete sniff. Not so much with Stiles.

Stiles mostly smells like a sexy ocean breeze, and it is delicious and makes Derek melt into a puddle every time they’re close, but he can barely smell anything else on him unless he’s intensely embarrassed, or intensely aroused. In fact, the sea scent on him seems to grow stronger when Derek is around. For a werewolf, that’s the equivalent of getting selective myopia, only more annoying, because while the person you want to see the most is a blur, the rest of the world is there in high focused technicolor.

Scent aside, the other notable thing Derek has learned from being in the same space as Stiles continuously, besides his taste in pop culture, is that if he can make things more difficult for all involved, he will.

“So… you’re asking _me_?” Cora says, and even sounds surprised. “I though you guys were doing good?”

Derek doesn’t see why. She is, by far, the most popular person in his family. The one who has had the most relationships and who made it look easy, and who gets to dump his significant others instead of getting dumped. No one has ever changed cities after the breakup, either, and Derek would like to replicate at least that much, if Stiles ever decides to leave him.

“We are.” Derek says. They’re swinging in the old tire swing in the back yard, and they might not have a better opportunity than this, while Mother and Peter bother Laura after their weekly family lunch and everybody else is in a food coma. “It’s just… sometimes I feel I like him more than he likes me?”

It has already been a month since Stiles took him to the cove for the first time, essentially taking the lead in their courtship. But sometimes he pulls back in the most unexpected ways and leave Derek reeling from the unexplained rejection.

“What is the problem?” Cora asks, stopping her tire abruptly to pay full attention to Derek. “That might be true, but doesn’t mean he doesn’t like you with all he’s got, you know?”

“He gave me underwear for a courting gift.” Derek whispers darkly, the kicks dirty at Cora when she laughs.

He had been floored. No, to be honest, at first, he had been happy, overjoyed his mate had given him a gift at last, even if it was more utilitarian than romantic. Humans sometimes considered sexy to give their partners underwear, Erica had told him once. At least they were not socks. But he had opened the package with three boxers, and the first read “Does these shorts make my bass look big?” and had a cartoon bass drawn in it. The second one said, “Good things come to those who bait”. He hadn’t been brave enough to look at the third.

“That’s a fine gift. Practical,” Cora says, right after she stops laughing. “You’re reading too much into it.”

Derek nods, but he’s not convinced. The truth is, it’s other things too. Cora seems to sense it, because she waits patiently for Derek to go on.

“He asked me to let him do the courting proper, but then he asked me just last week if I could decide on something the next time we go out?” Derek says, swinging the tire distractedly. “And he never tries to give me hickeys, but he doesn’t want me to give them to him either.”

Stiles’ exact words had been “leave my neck alone this time, babe, I bruise like a peach and my boss tisked at me yesterday, so...”, and Derek had agreed, of course, the last thing he wants is to get Stiles in trouble.

But the wolf part of him is going crazy with the need to mark. And to make things worse, Stiles didn’t smell much like him even after long periods spent together. He smelt like the sea, always, which just made Derek want to mark him some other significant way all the more.

“To be fair, it’s not like he could give you one, but I think I see the problem here.” Cora says. “Your courting instincts and Stiles’ don’t match.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” Derek deadpans. “That usually happens when you date someone who is a different species.”

“Well, smart-ass, you know that intellectually, but the animal part of you doesn’t,” she says, crosses her arms and gives him an unimpressed glare that reminds him of Mother. “You need to practice reading Stiles’ actions with a human understanding.”

What would that look like, Derek wonders. The underwear thing was obviously meant to be a joke, a nice inside joke even, pocking fun at all the times a sudden swimming session left him with translucent boxers or no boxers altogether. It’s cute, thinking of it like that, but still doesn’t sate Derek’s need to flaunt his relationship with Stiles to the world.

“What did you do, when you were dating people who weren’t werewolves?” He asks, stops the swinging motion and focus on Cora.

She just shrugs. “Try to compensate with an instinct you can both agree on.”

Derek smiles at that. “Sounds doable.”

 

 

 

Boyd turns twenty-five on a Tuesday, which Erica says is a stupid day to have a party, so they postpone celebrations until Saturday.

“Tate’s, seven sharp.” Erica announces with a wolfish grin. “We’ll start early to have time to drink that place dry. You’ve been suspiciously absent since your boy started working there.”

Derek snorts, but doesn’t disagree. He _has_ been avoiding the place, and it _is_ because of Stiles. Not that he is embarrassed to go there. He just doesn’t want to be the kind of clingy boyfriend who follows their mate into work and watches creepily from the shadows. Plus, if people try to hit on Stiles while he works, like they do with Malia, he’ll be happier not knowing and not causing a scene.

So, at seven, under wolf whistles from his friends, he approaches the bar where Stiles has just put on his apron and asks for the first round with as much restraint as he can. He can play cool even if his gorgeous boyfriend is gorgeous.

Stiles has no such compulsions and leans over the counter to peck him on the lips.

“Yours is free, for being mind-blowing hot,” he says, then grabs the bottles (three Coronas, lime juice for Erica and a cherry soda for Derek) and puts them into a round tray. “Give Boyd happy birthday from me!”

Derek pays and gives a fifty for a tip. They kiss again under more wolf-whistles, and Derek goes back to their table with a full grin he can’t bother concealing.

Time passes quickly while the regulars chat and drink after a long day of work. There is a football game playing in the TV in one corner, and someone is screeching like a dying cat on the karaoke machine on the other side of the bar. After a few rounds, Erica and Isaac get there and sing Boyd “Happy Birthday to you” five times in a row, and each time Erica makes the song lewder, to Boyd’s wide-eyed terror.

“You’d think she has actually been drinking.” Malia smiles when she brings them the next round. By now the bar is so packed he can’t see the counter from where he’s sitting, and he hadn’t seen, or heard, her arrival. She turns to Kira with a hopeful look. “How is it going, foxy? You never come this way.”

Kira turns away from her redder than a beet, even though she had been staring at Malia just a moment before and looks intently at the upholstery of their boot. Malia rolls her eyes, and Derek thinks he can see a bit of sadness behind her facade of annoyance.

“Well, yell if you need anything, Derek.” She says and disappears in the throng of bodies.

“You could talk to her, as a birthday gift to me,” Boyd says, taking his eyes off from Erica and Isaac with some hesitation.

“As a gift to us all.” Derek nods his agreement. “What is the worst that could happen?”

“She could say no,” Kira says, plays with a pigtail.

“Then she’ll have put you out of your misery.” Boyd says, takes the last gulp of his beer, and gets up. “I’ll get those two before they set fire to the place.”

Kira doesn’t answer, just stares at the table with a sad look that doesn’t suit her at all.

“Sorry, we shouldn’t have said that–” Derek starts, but Kira cuts him off.

“No, you’re right.” She puts her elbows on the table and looks at the glass of soda in front of her. After a moment, she starts playing with the condensation there. “I don’t mean to ruin everybody’s fun. I know she likes me, if nothing else we used to be friends, it’s just… it’s like some part of me is asking me to run every time we get close. Foxes are smaller than coyotes, you know?”

Derek takes the glass away from her and waits until she looks at him. They just look at each other for a moment, and Derek recalls all the times Kira complained about inter species courting. He has a lot more sympathy now, after Stiles had to swat at his nose with a newspaper to get him to not pee a circle around him.

“You’re not a fox. You’re an immortal thunder spirit who could take everyone in the town combined.” Derek points out, trying to sound amused.

Kira gives him a trembling smile, but says nothing else as Isaac, Erica and Boyd sit around her.

“Derek, next round is on you.” Erica throw her curls back and ignores Boyd’s huff. “Hurry, I think I saw someone hitting on your man.”

“God don’t say it like that!” Isaac complains, and gets whipped by Erica’s curls too for his troubles.

Derek lets them to sort themselves out and goes to the bar counter with a spring in his step. Stiles smiles brightly as soon as he sees Derek coming, and elbows Malia, who is slightly red-eyed. She nods, and he takes his apron off, makes a gesture to Derek and they met outside the bar.

“Thought it was time to take my break,” he says with a smile, but Derek can’t reciprocate.

He freezes. All over him, over his ocean scent.

“Why do you smell like Malia?” He growls. The animal part of him, as Cora had put it. Even as he speaks, a part of him knows he’s fucking up, but he’s too hurt to listen to the rational part of his brain.

Stiles arches an eyebrow, stunned, and makes a face like he can’t process Derek’s question.

“Because I hugged her?” He says in a clipped tone, puts his hands inside his pockets defensively. Like he’s not okay with Derek’s line of thought and has no problem letting him know.

His closed off body language just makes Derek’s blood run hotter, though.

“Why did you hug her?” Derek snarls. “Do you always go around hugging your coworkers? Was she the one hitting on you?”

“What the fuck are you on about?” Stiles screams back. “Malia is my friend and I’ll hug her if I want to. I’ll hug whoever I want when I want, and you can pull you head out of your ass about it.”

He feels like he’s been slapped, and the worst part is that Derek has to just take it. It doesn’t even occur to him to the animal part of him, who just put him into that mess to begin with, to say something hurtful back. He can just whine like Stiles put a spear through his heart.

That makes Stiles loosen up, at last, and he approaches with a worried expression.

“Derek, seriously, what is going on?” He asks, holds Derek’s face on his hands, so big and warm, and caresses his cheek with a thumb. “You can’t believe I have anything with your cousin.”

Derek swallows one, two, three times before he can even get a word out. Even then his brain feels all scrambled.

“Why do you smell like her and never like me?” He asks. “Why, if we are together all the time?”

Stiles blinks at him, confused, and cleans a tear from cheek. Derek hadn’t even realized he was crying.

“Is this a werewolf thing? I don’t know, Derek.” He asks, grabs one of Derek’s hand and puts it over his heart. “Listen to my heartbeat, okay? I don’t know.”

His heartbeat is steady, and Derek is not surprised. He knows Stiles is honest, and a terrible liar. That’s why he asks it.

“Would you rather be with her?” He whispers, voice trembling, scared of the answer.

Now it’s Stiles who looks like he’s been slapped. His cheeks even get red. He shakes his head like he can’t believe Derek has dared to utter such a great idiocy in his presence, for him to hear with his own two ears.

He takes a step back, then two when Derek tries to follow, and holds a hand up imperiously, a warning for Derek to keep away.

“Unbelievable. I told you we were courting. I kissed you and had sex with you. I took you to the place I shared with my mother!” He screams, shakes his head again and his hands bail into fists. “But that is not worth shit, because I don’t smell like you enough?”

Derek can only swallow and hang his head. It sounds ridiculous, put like that.

“I just...” He tries, tamper off because he doesn’t know what to say.

Stiles look at him expectantly, opens his mouth to say something, but the door behind them opens with a loud crack and Isaac all but falls from the bar.

“Derek, you won’t believe this! Kira just jumped the bar and planted one on Malia!” He screams, but his laughter dies down quickly when he picks up on the tension outside. He hunches onto himself and looks from Derek to Stiles and back again with wide eyes. “I’ll let you two to talk alone.”

“Don’t bother, my break is over.” Stiles says, turns away with barely a glance at Derek. “Talk to you later.”

But sounds like “goodbye”.

 

 

 

Derek feels like he’s walking around everywhere with a dark cloud over his head, and Kira looks like she can see the cloud, because she pats his arm comfortingly when he next drops his catch at the Yukimuras.

“Don’t look so sad,” she says. Of all Derek’s friends, she’s the only one who does a good job at being sympathetic, even though she’s the one who has the most happiness to hide from him. “It’s hard to date between species, those things happen.”

“I just feel terrible,” Derek says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What must he think of me? I should have known.”

“How would you? Derek, it might not feel like this, but you’ve only just met Stiles a month ago. Your instincts have been with you your whole life.” Kira smiles at him, incredulous. “You can’t expect to be able to disregard what they say so easily.”

“I should have known,” Derek growls, truthfully sadder at the whole situation than mad at Kira.

“That’s why people talk to each other, you know, to avoid those sorts of misunderstandings.” Kira points out, like she’s some guru on the matter and not some helpless fox who wouldn’t even talk to the person she has a crush on two days ago. “You’ll have to use your words the next time.”

Ah, words. Yes. A specialty of his.

 

 

 

For a werewolf, Derek likes being on his own from time to time. One of the many ways he’s the odd one out. There’s just too little of it to be had in a pack like his, with everyone always getting into each other’s business, so Derek treasures his time alone as much as he can. Even at his home inland, there’s always the possibility that someone will knock on his door and bring a new problem inside, and today he’s just… tired.

It’s not common, but sometimes Derek goes out on Triskelion just because. The sea is always vast and all-encompassing, and no problem is too big for it to swallow. It expects nothing of Derek, not even his survival, just lets him be and whether he thrives or perishes is up to Derek, to his choices and his will alone.

He goes out in the late afternoon nearing sunset, a time when he would usually go for a run or read a book, and anchors at the entrance of the bay. He splashes his feet on the salt water, lets the silence wash over him for a comforting heartbeat.

Talking. Another way he is the odd one in his family. He can persuade and charm and give speeches and be as eloquent as anyone else as long as the topic is not himself. As soon as he needs to express something important in that area, then he’s reduced to growls and snarls. There’s no saying what unearthly sound he’ll make when he tries to explain to Stiles that no, he didn’t mean to doubt him, and would he like to try again?

However clueless about her own feelings she might be, Kira is right about this one. He’ll need to use his words if he wants another chance with Stiles.

He closes his eyes, ignores the way his ears are burning, and starts to practice.

“Stiles,” he whispers, tries to make his tone soft and gentle. How he wants to sound when talking to Stiles for real. “I’m sorry about how things turned out Saturday.”

The ocean has nothing to say back, no feedback to offer. Derek says it again and again, repeats the words until he doesn’t feel like cringing at the reminder of his fuck up.

“Stiles,” he says again, louder, and tries not to care if his mother can hear him from the forest or not. “I really want to try again. I promise I will try to listen better this time.”

With each word, Derek wants to curl into a ball of mortified embarrassment and die, but he goes on, repeating variations of it until they feel natural. It is painfully awkward, but slowly gets easier.

“Stiles,” he starts over as soon as he got his last attempts down. “I know we can be great together. Please, let’s try again. I love you. So much, I love you.”

This part sounds just like he feels, natural, and Derek doesn’t repeat anything else, just breaths deep and lets the words warm his chest.

Satisfied at least, he opens his eyes, and promptly jumps back. Sties smiles at him from the sea, lower half still wearing the seal pelt, upper half human, freckled and amused.

“I love you, too,” he says. He swims to the boat and crosses his arms on the rail, looking at Derek fondly from between the bars. “I knew you meant it. And you don’t need another chance. It was a fight, not an end.”

Derek smiles back at him feeling like a huge weight has been taken off his chest. Wordlessly, he offers Stiles his hand, and the selkie accepts it with no hesitation and allows Derek to pull him into Triskelion.

The pelt drops all the way down, pools at Stiles human feet like the softest of fabrics. Stiles steps away from it gingerly, dripping wet and so beautiful in the orange sunlight Derek would fall in love all over again if he wasn’t in so deep already.

Best of all, he opens his arms to Derek when he steps closer, embraces him and they kiss until their lips start to get sore.

They laugh into each other’s mouth, something like relief mixed with happiness coloring the sound. Stiles pulls gently at Derek’s shirt, and Derek takes it off quickly while Stiles goes on to undo his belt and pants. Then he pauses, eyes round in surprised delight when he sees Derek’s underwear.

“What? You thought I wouldn’t wear it?” Derek asks. In his black boxers, bold white letters inform that ‘It’s not how deep you fish, it’s how you wiggle your worm’.

“You _do_ love me,” Stiles whispers. He looks at Derek, striking brown eyes shining with raw emotion.

“I do,” Derek says, and it’s the easiest thing he has ever done to say it again and again.


End file.
